


What If

by hersheykrazykiss



Category: Widows (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hersheykrazykiss/pseuds/hersheykrazykiss
Summary: This is in an alternative universe inspired by the little bar scene where Alice met David in the film.  In this story, David is the one who is down on his luck and hard up for some quick cash.  Alice is the lovely client he meets.  Naturally, he gets far more than he bargains for...
Relationships: Alice/David
Kudos: 1





	What If

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: After watching the thriller film in theaters back in November 2018, my mind kept replaying the scene where Elizabeth Debechi’s character, Alice, meets David (Lukas Haas) in the swanky high-rise bar. I never thought Haas was bad playing such a character (obviously he and Debechi had to be uncomfortably bold to act in some of the scenes they did), but somehow the part seemed to a little ill-suited for him. I kept thinking, “wouldn’t it be so funny if the characters’ roles were switched, and David was the poor schmuck desperate for money and decides to try to sell his body for some quick cash, while Alice was the suave lady looking for ‘good quality lov’n’?”—and then my imagination just ran far, far away. It took me a while to get it back, but I cooked up a fun, semi Duce Bigilo/Client List/Hung inspired dramedy with a very different plot from the film, hence the Alternative Universe genre. I also gave the characters last names (at least ones different from the movie, if they’re mentioned) and very different, made-up background stories, loosely based on their original film characters and/or very loosely based on the actors’ real-life backgrounds (thanks to imdb.com and Wikipedia). 
> 
> Most of the story is told from David’s point-of-view, and I’m a bit new to writing from a POV of a man (especially in regards to the very sexual nature of a heterosexual one), so please bear with me and kindly let me know what you think of the story! 
> 
> *Also, the statements in italics are written to indicate David’s internal thoughts at the present time, even though his POV is spoken from the past tense. 

Disclaimer: I own no rights to any form of the production of “Widows”

Chapter 1:

I stood stone still in the glass and steel elevator lit with the latest blue LED upper class design like something dark and fancy straight out of Wayne Industries. 

The elevator being dark and fancy, of course, not me. Though that _was_ the look I was aiming for.

I fought to allow my hand to run through and ruin the hair I tried desperately to tame for nearly an hour into a something that resembled attractive. My hair gets weird with gel. I’m not remotely bald by any means, despite the start of grey at the temples, but I don’t exactly have a nice, thick head of Jonas Brother hair either. I just try to keep it long enough to somewhat cover the protrusive ears I had been oh so blessed with. Now, I’m sure as hell no Zac Efron, but I don’t think of myself as a bad looking guy, either. An old girlfriend helped me name it when she said there was something about my brown eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul, right? Might as well use them! 

I can be very good with my eyes. And being a musician, I am very good with my hands—and have been, I think, been able to use them in other talented ways. 

Which, in all seriousness, brings me to why I am here tonight…

Fidgety, I tried to make sure that the packets of condoms remained securely in the breast pocket of my dress shirt underneath the Armani suit jacket. As I tried to work my nervousness out by making the billionth adjustment to the best $30 grey tie I owned, I couldn’t help but notice the Sam Smith and Normani song “Dancing with a Stranger” playing through the radio intercom.

_How appropriate_ , I thought, nauseously. 

I’m very well aware that what I was doing was risky. And stupid. And illegal. But mostly risky.

If all went swimmingly tonight, I could leave this hotel $700 richer, with possibly a new avenue of side income.

And hopefully a very temporary one. As much as I enjoy the idea of hot casual sex with a strange woman as the next guy—this is not something I can make a career out of. We all know the world’s oldest profession was never a profession held in high of esteem. Even if you are a male catering to females. Which probably brings in the stupid part. Woman obviously don’t need to buy sex. But if they do, it’s for the quality, not quantity. You must know how to make a woman feel beautiful. You don’t have to look like Zac Efron to provide that. And I’ve had enough relationships in the past to know a thing or two. Because _quality_ is what I’m promising…

Hopefully Sugar wasn’t going to set me up on another failure. Sugar was the most recommended “discreet” dating app where so-called “Sugar babies” were looking for Sugar daddies/mommas for some, umm, “companionship” and vise-versa. I figured that was the safest and most legal way to set up my plans, though I had to make it somewhat clear before meeting someone that I was really doing this for the money more than anything, and try to discourage anything possibly exclusive for too long. I even managed to score a pre-paid smart phone to do all this. I’d like to think I was savvy enough to make sure I keep this sliver of a “double-life” _very_ separate from my primary one. The wrong people cannot know, and we’re not just talking about law enforcement here.

_Yes, I can so do this_ , I kept telling myself.

The tie, dress shirt, socks, shoes, and yes, the boxers, were mine. The suit, which happens to be a whopping $1,000, belonged to my good friend Aaron. We have roughly the same height and lean shape, so it’s hard to tell I don’t exactly belong in it. Naturally, I made a promise to not let anything happen to the suit. That meant no tears, scuffs, and _especially_ no certain bodily fluids on it, if you get my drift. Regardless, I would have it back to him dry cleaned and in mint condition or else my precious classic maple Ludwig set was his forever.

And yes, I know I could sell that for a pretty penny, but I’m a music teacher as well as a music aficionado. Not to mention, those drums belonged to my dad…so… 

Aaron does really care, though. He was honestly more concerned about my well-being than his suit and asked if I was sure I really felt I had to do this. He doesn’t want to see me in serious legal trouble or a torture victim’s chopped-up body parts in some psycho-chick’s basement. I told him, honestly, I was out of other options. And I assured him if I sensed anything amiss in the public place we’re meeting, I’d get my ass out immediately. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him loan me any more money. I have too much debt and other shit for that. Nor do I have Aaron’s income, or his Hyde Park condo, which, again, is why I’m here…

Not long ago, he subtly confided to me that he really wasn’t an tech executive, but rather a high-end host/masseur, so to speak, that catered to only the wealthiest of women—and offered a little extra for some “‘extra’ treatment”. He tried to get me an apprentice job there. It was at the fancy health spa/ mini resort he works at, but I fucked it up royally and his boss rejected me before I had the chance to even open my mouth. 

What can I say, I wasn’t wearing the right suit; because, if you haven’t figured it out yet, I am poor. I still have student loans from over twenty years ago! I live in a shitty apartment in the South Side with an 80-something-year-old Black gentleman who enjoys most of his time doing everything inside. In the nude. Karl’s harmless, though, if just a little ornery. I’ve had far worse roommates. I also drive a piece-o-shit ‘88 Honda hatchback Junker with a nondescript color that’s not even worth breaking into unless the local punks just want to roll play cheesy “back to the 80s” skits for their middle school drama assignments—that is, it doesn’t break down on them first. My car is the ugly step-cousin to the DeLorean; it doesn’t even _try_ to look that cool. And everyone knows you can’t really live on a teachers’ salary at a low-income magnet arts elementary school, plus two part-time jobs, especially not here in Chicago. I barely scrap enough to pay for a dinky temperature-controlled storage unit to keep my heirloom instruments. Not to mention, I’m a divorcee who has to fork over a hefty alimony each month. 

Which brings me to the most important reason I’m here. My beef with the ex is hardly tolerable, but whatever embittered feelings festering in the steaming pile of shit we once called our marriage can’t spoil the unrequited love I have for my lil’ Lilly. 

Lilly is my three-year-old daughter. She is the one light of my life, my world. And I would do anything to make sure she was happy and safe. She came into this world just as my dad was leaving it. You see, Lilly has Down Syndrome. It was pretty clear caring for her, plus my personal tragedy, cost my marriage, and any energy I had left in reserved to maintain it. None of this is Lilly’s fault, of course. If anything, her having Downs had made her all the sweeter and more innocent and incapable of hatred or bratty behavior all the rest of “normal” humans are afflicted with. I suppose Karen and I would have fallen apart long ago if not for Lilly. Unfortunately, the substantial alimony has more do with Lilly’s special needs and making sure she gets proper therapy and education than it has to do with my ex-wife trying to squeeze the very life blood out of me.

So here I am, on a Friday night, stepping off the fancy elevator of the 20-something-odd floor of the fancy Omni Hotel on fancy Michigan Avenue. Meeting a total stranger.

A total female stranger.

And I intend on making sure it is indeed a female, because that embarrassing snafu at the Breakfast Club gay bar where I made the dumb mistake of not making sure my Sugar profile date preferences were correct was _not_ fun. I have nothing against gay men—I’m just simply not one myself. I thought I was meeting a straight woman who said she “felt safer” at a gay bar in her online message. Of course, a gay man _would_ feel safer at a guy bar, and I, being new to this sort of discretion game, didn’t take the time before I pursued what’d I hoped to be a quick “pay date”. I honestly hated hurting the man’s feelings, but it was a harsher lesson to learn on my part. 

So definitely a woman! Or maybe somebody with the finest of female gender modifications money can buy. Honestly, I’m not yet at the point where I can’t afford to be a little picky. When I asked online yesterday, I received a picture of a lovely cleavage of creamy flesh belonging to a slender figure in a tight pink halter with golden locks just barely visible on her shoulders. The pic came with the caption “Is this proof enough?”

Are you shitting me?!

I was nervous because I was obviously taking certain risks doing this on my own. When I tried to set myself up at a (semi) legit male escort company, my interview was conducted by this dude called Bash in a shady hole-in-the-wall on West 26th Street. He asked me with a straight face how long I could hold an erection. When I realized, unintentionally outload, that that was a serious question, his high-brow response was, “we’re an escort service—yeah! That’s a serious question.”

Welp, scratch that option! This side gig would probably work better without a boss in the mix. 

And yes, I have thought of acting in porn, and immediately decided, quite strongly I might add, against it. I don’t know, I feel funny showing my ass and junk on camera. It may be legal, but it’s still a permanent visual recording. Not to mention, as a trusted teacher, and _father,_ to young children, you never know who you know will find out and use that against you some time down the road. Nope! And besides, not only do you have to maintain the hard-on for like an hour, you have to start with men first, and then earn your way to female costars. Okay, maybe that’s not true, but I wouldn’t care to find out. Not that desperate yet.

Looking around the luxurious establishment with the live cityscape backdrop in the windows, I saw only beautiful and obviously wealthy people hanging about at bar with a lit-up surface and the surrounding lounge that looked like the scene of a Lancôme commercial. I tried to act like this was my regular hangout, but the truth was, I couldn’t feel more out of place.

I spotted a slender older lady at one side of the bar sipping a white wine by herself. She looked to be in her fifties, with light blonde hair, though maybe on the shorter side. It could possible it could be her. Though the picture…

As I approached her, she started to acknowledge my presence with increasing bewilderment. I immediately noped away, trying to hide my sheepish face. It’s really tricky when you’re trying to be both discreet and noticeable only to one certain unknown person at the same time. 

_Okay, maybe she’s not here yet._ _We did agree at 9._ I really needed a drink. _Now dude, if you get drunk tonight, you won’t be able to perform, and that is very bad for business._

Especially this business. 

I noticed a smok’n hot blonde at the end corner of the bar with pinned up tresses in a black skinny dress and plunging neckline.

_Teh! No way._

There was no way that pretty young thing could possible my “client”, so I pretend to not take too much interest in her. She must have been one of those supermodels in town for some fashion show I had no time, energy, or money to care about.

Which was so hard because she was _hot_! Probably a Victoria’s Secret model. The way her perfectly blacklined eyes on her perfectly structured face fixed in the same direction I happened to be standing me a bit too uneasy. I tried not to notice the delicate little silver thread with a glinty charm that nestled almost down in her perfect cleavage. Or the way her perfect figure with her perfect shoulders sat with such perfect grace.

What I wouldn’t give to be that sparkly little charm now. 

_OK, Schwartz, don’t be standing around here like a dumb ass. You can at least pretend you know what you’re doing._

I was mentally preparing, whenever I did meet her, to hide my Milwaukee accent as much as possible. I was college educated and raised by an immigrant parent, but some regional habits die hard. 

I remembered her saying she’d be wearing a “little black dress”. Which seemed to be the favored attire of about 70% of the ladies here.

Well, sitting near this beautiful creature and ordering just one stiffy couldn’t hurt _my_ stiffy too much. As I silently settled in the perpendicular bar stool, _briefly_ acknowledged her _,_ and was looking to get the bartender’s attention, she leaned over just slightly and spoke.

“Are you Amedaus4680!” 

I felt my heart shoot up to my gullet upon my Sugar username spoken outload and turned slowly to meet her beautiful eyes. She had been looking down at her phone screen, and then lifted her gorgeous crystalline peepers to the likes of me. The bar’s tabletop lights made her face glow golden.

_No._

_It can’t be!_

“Umm,” I tried not to stammer, “you must be PlatinumBlue77.” I tried to address her with confidence, but the fact still stood that I was gob smacked she was the one looking to get lucky with me tonight. No way! Not this Earth Angel! She was exactly what I pictured the Lorelei to look like when my dad told me stories way back in my childhood. 

Her smile so simply radiant, I thought I was going to faint. That faint feeling quickly turned into an increasing tingly warmth in my lower regions, and I tried desperately to contain my giddy reaction. Thank god I was sitting down! And the way she was lightly touching her hair by her ear gave her a shy-sexy look. 

I had completely forgotten to order a drink, when she spoke again, with a voice more musical to my ears than a Stradivarius, “are you having a drink? It’s on me.” 

God, her smile was intoxicating!

“Uh…,” I scolded myself for tripping over my own words once again. I looked down at the fizzy pale liquid in the glass with a little straw cradled between her hands, “What are you having?”

“Ginger ale,” her smile was even wider and cleverer than rainbow sunbeams out of a unicorn’s ass.

Uh oh. Was she a teetotaler? I wanted to come off more impressively controlled, but I also really needed to take the edge off my nerves just a tiny bit. I reasoned that if she expected her hired pleaser to be a teetotaler too, she would not have chosen a high-up, high-end bar to meet.

Maybe she just wasn’t comfortable drinking right now. I’m cool with that. Let’s see, what’s considered a sophisticated drink? _Don’t get something outrageously priced, Schwartz!_

A straight up whiskey or brandy sounded good, but “mixing it up” sounded better. As I was flipping through the mental pages of my mixology bank, I saw the bartender approach our privet little corner. The trim beard, slick taper, and hipster glasses couldn’t hide his baby face, and as I was wondering if this kid was barely old enough to drink alcohol, let alone mix and serve them, he nodded towards me.

Ah!

“Widow maker,” I stated confidently, “on the rocks.” I couldn’t help but notice the angel next to me subtly cocking one perfect brow.

“You want that with Jägermeister, or—?”

“Not a Widow Maker without it now, is it?” I quickly said, not bothering to hide my annoyance. Truth is, I like straight-up Jägermeister in general. And even though I’m not what you’d call a “manly man” I did feel my masculinity encroached upon just a tiny little bit for some stupid reason. Or maybe I was trying to showoff somehow. Looking back now, it was clearly inane. The bar tender responded nonchalantly and got right down to business in making it. He then paused, looked up and asked in near monotone, “you have a preference for a specific vodka or coffee liquor?” He clearly wasn’t trying to be rude, and I decided to back off the asinine dominance charade. 

“Nah,” I responded nonchalantly, “I just really like Jägermeister.” He then proceeding with making my magic potion. 

My lovely goldilocks lady made a move towards her small purse to fish out a payment. Nice. I could get use to this. 

Bar boy took her credit card without missing a beat, and I suddenly found myself slipping back into my awkward, nervous head as I tried to figure out how to continue the conversation. The woman’s cool confident gaze seemed to stay trained right at my face. I didn’t even know her name yet!

I looked at her and took a deep mental breath before speaking. “By the way, I’m David.” I leaned in a little towards. _Wait, should I shake her hand?_

She looked straighter at me, cocked her pretty head, and regarded me with beautiful pink glittery lips curved at the corners once again, “It’s lovely to meet you, David. I’m Alice.” Her earrings were long silver treads with glittery gems at the ends, matching her necklace, and they sparkled hypnotically.

“Alice…,” I spoke, feeling the name on my tongue, I decided to fish for her last name, “Alice….?”

Her lips curved more coyly, revealing very white teeth, “Just Alice.”

“Ah.” I left it there. I didn’t exactly give her my last name either. Fair enough. That was probably for the best right now. Though it is strange, when you think about it, how willing you are to share bodies with someone but not your last name. My own last name sounds like a swanky one, but it isn’t. I have no claim to the Schwartz Capital Group, or any relation to the late radio personality, Ed Schwartz. I’m not even Jewish, either, unless you count my Italian American mother’s very distant, somewhat estranged, third cousins-by-marriage back east.

Bar boy smoothy set the tumbler down in front of me. _Ooh, what’s this? A big ice cube shaped like a ball! I’ve never seen that!_ The tumbler itself had some sort of protrusion at the bottom that made the ice-ball swirl around in only two directions: obviously a very specific design. _Fancy!_ I found myself really fighting the urge to poke and play with the crystal orb in my drink. Not that I am that childish. I was just that nervous. 

“So you have a thing for Jägermeister, huh?” She asked, propping her lovely chin against her lovely palm.

“Well,” I start, looking at her and trying to get myself to actually sip the drink as opposed to ogling it, “I guess I just like the flavor. Blame the heritage. I relate more to my German portion than my Russian, or,” I took a sip and smiled, “Hawaiian portions—neither of which I am—that I’m aware of, anyway.” Her slight smile returned. I wasn’t sure if she thought my culture-drink analogy was clever, or if she thought it was dumb and she was just trying to be nice. I was starting to think it was the lamest line of conversation I ever came up with. 

“You’re German, then?”

“Uh, half. My dad was from East Germany. He managed to escape the Iron Curtain, came to this country when he was a teenager, and _tried_ to make it in the music industry—which was kind’ve brutal. Still is.” I was not only starting to ramble, but I was approaching territory I dared not delve too deep in. I noticed she was not lost on the fact that I referred to my father in the past tense, so I tried to settle one personal truth very quickly. “He passed away a few years ago.” _Don’tgotherdon’tgotheredon’tgothere!_

“I’m sorry,” she stated gently after a moment, her eyes softened. I awkwardly piddled with ice-ball in my drink while sipping it a little more quickly and trying very hard not to let the bubble of intense emotions surface. I knew we would eventually get personal, but I wanted to avoid this kind of personal. I hated pity sometimes, especially when it was never my intention. I shrugged, “he’d been pretty sick, so…” _Change the subject! Now!_

“— _Anyway_ , good news is he’s not now, and besides, he lived long enough to see the Cubs win the World Series…,” I shoved down my stale grief like bulky clothes in an overstuffed suitcase, zipped it up, gathered myself and pasted on a stupid reassuring grin, “…And, the night isn’t really about me. It’s about you.” I leaned a little closer and spoke just a few seductive octaves lower, “I’d love to know just a tiny bit more about you. What’s your favorite color?” Her wide-eyed face then mirrored my grin. Then, leaning in again, she rested her beautiful jaw in a propped palm and said, “I like aquamarine.” 

“Aquamarine, huh?” I lassoed back some charm and used all I could, “is that because your lovely eyes are that color, or you just think it’s pretty in general?” Her aqua eyes never swayed their focus on me, but her grin got a little wider. “I find the color,” she paused, breaking her gaze just briefly, then moving back to me, “…calming.” 

She had moved her palm and gently brushed her fingers to her hair near her left ear in that soft, sexy way again. She seemed to hardly touch her ginger ale.

She didn’t speak for a moment. I just took another long sip of my cocktail and kept my eyes on her, hoping that my techniques were effective. Her eyes flickering over to the side and she said, “you wanna check out the lights outside?”

“Sure!” I responded eagerly and grab my drink. A shift in movement was exactly what I needed. The developing hard on was, luckily, not too obvious. Yet. As we both stood, I was suddenly intimidated by how lean and _tall_ she was, towering me by at least five or six inches. She _had_ to be a super-rich supermodel! Well, hopefully, by the end of the night, our horizontal positions won’t make it matter. _Ooh, boy!_

I found myself standing at the windows, or glass wall, rather, trying to come off as some suave-ass exec; with one hand in the blazer pocket, and the other holding a “sophisticated” cocktail. Alice had abandoned her own drink. She was wearing heeled shoes, but I was certain she still towered me by at least three or four inches. As I desperately hid my intimidation, I could swear that the glamorously chatty couple sitting at the table not far were probably looking at us and thinking, _who does this doofus jackass think he is?_

I was feeling fidgety again and the alcohol was not really working fast enough. I tried bouncing on my heels just a little without accidently sloshing my drink, because we all know how graceful that is. I needed to think of more questions about her that would not come off too personal. She appeared as fresh a moon daisy in her sleek dress and her long legs adorned in laced-up black pumps. And her dress even had a little zipper down the front! It was extremely hard to concentrate on talking when my brain was still wildly imagining her naked body underneath. I could even smell her perfume. What was it? Ralph, I think. Unfortunately, my ex loves the stuff, too. But _Alice_ wore it better, I thought. 

“You must have quite the career,” I tried to start out casually, “Fashion must be booming.” I caught myself short of smacking my forehead when she gave me an odd look, “Fashion?”

“Yeah,” I was grasping at straws now and could _not_ contain my embarrassment, “are you not some kind of fashion model?” Her wide-eyed look suddenly broke out the most gorgeous, soft-smiley laugh, “Oh no! I don’t model.” _Smooth, Schwartz! Okay, just lean in harder!_

“No?”

“No.” Big smile. Soft laugh. I hope I at least flattered her. Before I was forced to ask, she then said, “I….,” she seemed to hesitate while she looked straight at me. _Does she not want me to know what she does for a living?_

She then crossed her arms, and said, “I investigate.” 

_What?!!_

“Analyze, more like it,” she continued, effortlessly, “I analyze the reports and numbers of a bunch of corporations and firms, and just make sure all their finances are in order. It’s nothing terribly exciting, but the money’s not too much to complain about.” _Whew! I almost thought you said you were cop! God, that’d be bad!_

“Wow, that’s…,” I tried to find the right word, “impressive.” Alice cocked her one brow and delicately scoffed, “It’s pretty boring, actually. I oversee that the t’s are crossed and i’s are dotted. I just make sure there aren’t problems.” I nodded. _Damn_ , she had to be so smart! So she was some kind of corporate financial analyst? No wonder she was rolling in the dough! She had to be come kind of blonde version of Hedy Lamar. She was breathtakingly beautiful _and_ intelligent. _Sheesh, Schwartz, not only is she out of your league in so many ways, what makes you think you can charge her $700? How about taking off the two 0’s and calling it a night?_ I knew I was inadequate, but I couldn’t afford to give up yet. I needed the money! I’m willing to lose all sleep and work all night trying to please her if it came to that. I tried to remember the story I was planning to bullshit in case the subject of my career popped up. No way could she know I was a fucking _elementary_ school music teacher. I very firmly believe in keeping certain adult activities strictly with other adults, and innocent children _out_ of the equation, but some people tend to get the wrong idea. _Remember! You just give private keyboarding lessons to adults! And you wait tables at Giovanni’s on alternating weekends!_ Which was, actually, true. 

As Alice returned to gazing out the window with her long arms still crossed, she asked, “So, have you done this before?” I almost spit into my drink. I quickly swallowed and looked back at her.

“Done…this…before?” She seriously could not be asking me if I was a virgin, was she? Holy shit, did I give off those kinds of vibes!? “You mean…?”

She turned her head to me casually and answered, “both for business and for pleasure. You seem a little new to the business, at least.” _Ohh…how are you gonna explain this?_

Her face didn’t seem accusing or even disappointed, but it was still very hard to read. Scrambling for the right words, I said slowly, “Well, my experience with the business aspect is a little green, _yet_ , I’ll admit, but as to the pleasure aspect…,” I lowered my voice just a little and looked straight into her aqua eyes, “you will not be disappointed, I assure you. I _am_ highly experienced.”

_Quality over quantity, baby!_

I figured I better get used to this flirting “in code” game, and quickly. Never know who might happen to eaves drop. I did not understand why I thought the couple nearby kept watching us. I chocked it up as to just paranoia. She appeared to be driving the conversation, anyway. I could see the wheels turning in her head while still looking straight at me. Was she going to back out? Please, no! _Schwartz, you can’t afford to fuck this up now too!_ This must be what executives feel when they’re trying to close a deal. Business, indeed! More like actual “corporate prostitution”. _What’ya say, Alice? Please?!_

After a moment, she cocked her head in that sexy way again and smiled. She then turned her whole body to me, leaned against the glass like the sexy model she really was and said, “So you’re new to the business, but not so new to the ‘experiences’?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered like the confident, discipled gentleman I could be, then I proceeded to take a stylish sip out of my stylish cocktail. Her face then became soft and marble-still and in a very direct and almost whispered tone, she asked a questioned I did not expect, “Are you nervous?”

_Oh shit!_

It had to have been the stupid, panicked look on my face. All I could do is paste a dumb smile on my face to ease my embarrassment somehow. But before I could answer, she said, “Because—It’s perfectly ok if you are. I find men who are too confident in bed much too..,” she took a small step towards me and reached forward to lightly fiddle with my cheap-ass tie, “…too arrogant, and just. Plain. _Bad_!” She seemed to almost laugh as she stared down at my shirt collar. Then she lifted her eyes seductively to my face, “look, I’ve been married before, and my ex was the absolute poster boy for the ‘wham, bam, thank you, ma’am’ type.” Looking right _up_ at her, I responded with all the confidence I could muster, “Well, I can assure you, Alice, I’m not that type. I’m a big believer in _mutual_ achievement, or, at least the value in finishing last.” I took a small step closer so I could see the light freckles on her pretty nose and lowered my tone, “In other words, your pleasure is _both_ my business _and_ my pleasure.” _That sounds good!_ I even took her hand from my collar tenderly and kissed it for good measure. So, she was a sorry member of the Divorce Club, too, huh? I decided to use this knowledge to ease her open a little more. Vulnerability is honesty a sexy attribute to the art of intimacy. 

“Your ex must be an ignoramus to think you aren’t smart enough to know a good thing or not,” I amped up more charm, “You really have the full package, you know? You’re both beautiful _and_ smart. I hope you know that.” I gently released her hand. Wow, her ex had to be the biggest dumbass on the planet!

“Yeah, well,” she grinned softly and turned back towards the window, “he turned out not to be the nicest of people, either. Initially _charming,_ but not nice. Basically, your regular type A Asshole.” I started to wonder just how nasty this dumbass ex-husband was when she sighed and continued, “at least there were no kids in the mix. Hate to think of what this would’ve put them through. Of, course, Florek failed to tell me he never wanted any until well _after_ we were married—and just before we split,” she sighed again. I was at a loss for words, inside my own head with Lilly’s little laughy face floating up above, shining like the damn sun. It was clear that this was really a can of worms I had just opened. 

Alice had to have noticed my silence, because she turned her head back towards me and then said, “Hey, I’m sorry.” My attention span suddenly sprang back, and looking at her, I realized what a crap listener I’d become. And she had just spoken more at that moment than she had all night! It was just that…

“I shouldn’t have dumped my baggage on you like that.”

“No, no!” I piped up quickly, “Don’t apologize! This night is about you, remember? You can say anything, do anything you want. My time is yours.” In the meantime, I was mentally kicking myself for letting the sudden talk about divorce and children obviously get to me. Alice looked at me for a couple painful seconds before tilting her head and speaking again.

“What about you? You’re not _currently_ married yourself, are you?” She smiled, playfully. _Hmm, that would complicated things, wouldn’t it?_ I chuckled, “Oh, no. I’m divorced too.” I decided I would have to let her know just one more uncomfortable nugget of info about me, “But I wish I could say the same about the ‘kids’ part.” Alice waited for me to say more. 

“I have a young daughter that I support”, I gently sighed with admission. I didn’t really want sympathy, but I’d hoped that it would work in my favor with this, at the very least. _Let her know you’re still human with a heart._ I took another big sip of my drink and focused my eyes back out onto the lights of the office building across the sky from us. Briefly looking down at my drink, I noticed my ice-ball was significantly smaller. I decided to say not too much more on the matter, hoping Alice wasn’t going to press further. Her habit of long pauses before saying anything made me wonder. She was still looking at me, I could tell. But then she smiled kindly and said, “I’ll bet you’re a good dad.” 

I looked at her, taken a little off guard, but I couldn’t help but beam just a little. I could tell her comment was genuine and I remembered that chicks really do dig guys with paternal instinct. “Well, I try. She’s been one of the only blessings I have,” I said. Again, Alice didn’t say anything for a few seconds. _Please, can we change the subject again?_

I was starting to figure that maybe she just wanted to talk all night, but then she said, “I can say this,” she began, turning back towards the urban night scenery outside, “as much of a shit-sham as my marriage has been, it doesn’t make me miss men any less.” I carefully averted my eyes toward her, wondering if this was going towards what finally seals the _real_ deal tonight. 

“I miss men,” she continued, “I miss their strong arms…warm chest…their sent.” _Uhhm…?_ She went on, “I miss the way they feel…, “ she then came so close to me that all I could focus on was her pink, sparkly lips with the pinkest tongue, no doubt, and spoke, “…Their taste.”

_Ohhhhh!_ This was not going to be difficult at all! I wanted to bite my knuckle. Gnaw hard on it until it was bloody! The Armani trousers were _definitely_ not cut right in the crotch! Refraining, I drained the last of my cocktail, looked deep into her eyes, and said, “you know I can fulfill all of those things for you. Do you want me to prove it?”

She stared so deeply, I thought I was going to drown in their Aquamarine like a water-swollen jellyfish in a hurricane of blue fire. “Yes,” she whispered, hoarsely. That was it! The arrangement was sealed! There was only that tiny loose end to make. “Let’s get out of here. Where’s your room?” I whispered close to her ear. Her check was so soft! Her perfume and beauty more invigorating than ever. And the cocktail was finally taking effect, too. Maybe I need to quickly sneak a ticktack. She looked at me with the sweetest demeanor, “just a few floors up from here”, she whispered. I could hardly contain my excitement, but I was determined to remain a gentleman. Bash could eat his fuck’n heart out! I could hold an erection for as long as it takes! And given what she just said, it didn’t have to be that long. I sucked in a deep breath, looped my arm around her elegant shoulders, took her lovely hand in my other one, and we made our escape.

Back to the dark and fancy elevator, my heart was picking up the pace. This was really going to happen! Not only was I going to have hot, amazing sex with a beautiful babe, I was gonna get paid for it! We tried to act as casual as possible as we waited for and entered the elevator. Low and behold, we were the only ones in there! I watched as Alice pressed the button for the 27th floor. As soon as I felt the lifting motion shift beneath our feet, I wasted no time intertwining her fine fingers with mine. She turned to me with obvious wonting in her eyes. _Kiss her, you idiot!_ I took her face in my free hand and kissed her like I had never kissed a woman in a long, long time.

Which I honestly hadn’t.

Her lips and tongue were soft and peach-sweeter than I could ever imagine. I found myself pressing her against the wall of the elevator, planting kisses all over her softer-than-heaven neck and her tender moans were driving me crazy. She kept pushing me to only one side of her neck, but I really didn’t care. Whatever preference she had, her wish was my command! _Hurry the fuck up, 27 th!_ The ‘ding’ of our destination brought us out briefly of our growing ecstasy with a breathless gasps. Too much blood was flowing from my one head to the other one, and I was getting dizzy and impatient. I was somewhat terrified that Aaron’s Armani trousers were gonna rip at the fly, and I’d have to figure some other way to get back my dad’s drums. But at the very moment, I seriously didn’t give a shit. I had to be able to endure this! I promised Alice that I would put her pleasure above my own. Premature ejaculation would be a disaster, and I was _determined_ to not let that happen. The doors opened and I followed her like the giddy boyfriend of a young, teenage runaway. Still grasping my hand, she pulled me towards a room door somewhere in the middle of the dim, silent hallway. We could hear our own panting breaths echoing. As I gave her just a moment to retrieve her room keycard, I reached out my arm and stabilized myself against the door frame hovering near her, as standing on my feet was becoming difficult. Just as she managed to pull the card out, I had to kiss her again; I had to feel her softness some more. Somehow, she was able to maneuver the card slot while making out with me, I don’t know how, but it really didn’t matter.

The cool darkness of the private, expensive hotel room with a promisingly puffy bed added to the erotic atmosphere. So many preplanned sexual techniques were running though my head, I honestly didn’t know where to start. I gave her a moment to turn some lights on. Then we seized each other again eagerly. In between kisses, she muttered, “We..agreed,” breathlessly, “$700 cash, right?” “Yes, _yes!”_ I responded, just too eager to get to “work”. She shoved my head into the left side of her neck and began to maneuver us toward the bed. I could hardly wait to feel what she was like inside! Perhaps she really enjoyed fallactio first. Maybe backwards cowgirl too, or just plain missionary. Maybe everything! Or maybe she liked snuggly-cuddly positions. I really didn’t care how she wanted it, I would do it! I’m more than ready to start my new night job as a part-time gigolo! But wait!

I remembered the important items in my breast pocket. Before I could go about fishing them out, I found my lovely woman taking assertion by pulling my face into a full-mouth, deep kiss and pushing me to sit on the foot of the bed. I wasn’t sure if I should fall back on the mattress or not, but her crawling onto my lap and moving her kisses down to my neck told me to keep upright. God, she felt so good! I could feel her long legs (and loins) were very athletic.. And they were figuratively, and literally, _hot_! She proceeded to yank off blazer from off my shoulders, and then got to work on yanking my tie loose, then off, and unbuttoning my front. In the very back bottom on my brain I prayed the suit wouldn’t accidentally get ripped at the shoulder hems. Things were getting very steamy now, but I still had a responsibility to _try_ to respect my friend’s good suit! _Just get the damn thing off—carefully!_

As Alice continued her passionate assault on my neck, I weakly tried to pry her off just long enough to retrieve the condom packs. She may be gorgeous, but I did have just enough sex education and experience to know that if you don’t really know where someone has been, no matter how attractive, they could still give you a present or more you don’t want. Luckily, I was not the type of guy who thought the entirety of my nervous system resided solely in my penis. I am totally willing to wear a condom and find sex just as satisfying as without. Chicks dig a guy who is still sensible. 

“Wait”, I panted, trying to gently push her off. I worried she would be offended, but Alice obliged. “Is everything ok?” she asked, breathlessly, climbing off and leaned against my knees at the foot of the bed. I tried to act as quickly as I could, only to hastily, and clumsily yank the roll of packets out with enough force for them to fly out like a novelty pop prank can and make way for the tight trench between the bed and the wall… _Oh!_ I snapped into action and dove for them before they could be lost forever in the dark bowels a hotel floor. “I...just,” I gasped just as I managed to take hold of small the condom roll, grinning, “…just thought these would be necessary.” I didn’t know if the it was that stupid moment of rationality, or something else, but the way Alice looked at me made me think something was _very_ wrong. She was raking one hand through the crown of her now tussled, blonde hair. Her eyes seemed to hold some kind of, I dunno, pity I couldn’t understand. And I had no idea where it came from. Shit! Was she having second thoughts, again? “David…,” she began, softly. 

“Uh…is everything ok with _you_?” I asked, still out of breath and reaching for her arm. Our knees were still half-way embracing. If she thought I was going too rough, I could go slower, easily! She looked straight at me in a way that was starting to scare me for some reason. “You…are a really sweet man,” she caressed my head and face. “And you…,”she was breathless still, “…are not a bad person…but…,” she stopped. She jerked her head up as she grasped the pale locks of her scalp again, her eyes squeezed tight before looking down at me. What the hell?

“You—,” she spoke with a soft huff, “—are under arrest.”

I stared at her. I was all too aware of the cool air on the exposed skin under my neck, and had this been a cheaper hotel, you could’ve probably heard the dripping sink in the bathroom. 

She gave me a longer silence than any other. No way she was serious. I couldn’t help but snort with disbelief, “is this…,” I playfully hesitated, “is this a part of the foreplay?” Alice only looked at me like a sad child that dropped her ice cream on the ground. She just slowly shook her head as she looked down at me. Not only was my erection long gone, I was actually starting to feel a frightening, growing numbness there. She then began to unzip the front of her dress. Something was definitely wrong, because the way she unzipped her dress didn’t give off the impression that this was sexy anymore. There, in the crevasse of her breasts was a small, strange black thing taped to her delicate skin.

“No,” she said, miserably. Solidly. 

My brain had yet to decipher what the black thing was when the door to the room suddenly exploded and I cried out.

“ _POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!”_

Terrified out of my mind, I gaped at Alice, who was jumping back just as a swarm of black and blue uniforms and pointed guns came pouring into the room and descended upon me like a tidal wave. I flailed about, trying to get my hands in the air and not get my head blown off. “You’re a cop?!” I shouted out at Alice, just as it was becoming clear what was happening to me. And let me tell you, it hit me like a pile of scalding hot brinks of actual shit on my head. But I still didn’t want to believe that this whole thing had been a set-up!

“You’re a fucking _COP_?!”

The other cops in uniform were screaming at me to shut up and freeze and to get my heads behind my head. Like a pathetic fool, I complied, trembling, and stared in shear horror at the woman, who moments ago, had her tongue in my mouth! She wouldn’t even look at me as she was pulling the wire out from under dress, as well as some little thing out of her right ear… _wait! What!?_ Was Alice even her real name? 

“David Schwartz?” I frantically turned to see a smartly dressed Black woman in cream slacks wearing a police shield pendant address me as she entered the room. A plain-clothed Latino-looking woman carrying a black laptop case with her dark hair in a top bun followed behind.

“you are under arrest for prostitution, you have the right to remain silent…,”

“No,” I moaned miserably.

One meaty cop roughly grabbed a lifted arm and flipped my whole lanky body over the foot of the bed like a floppy omelet. “Oh, God!” I chocked out, close to sobbing now. I felt my arms being violently yanked from behind to my lower back, and the sound of clicking metal as handcuffs were painfully jammed around my wrists. The woman continued to recite something about rights and an attorney as I struggled not to be smothered to death by the fluffy duvet my head sunk into it. I could hear the woman I thought was Alice pipe up, “Easy! He’s not violent!” Meathead flipped me back over and forced me to sit up as the Black woman finished given me the Miranda. 

“…Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?” She eyes me directly, waiting for me to respond. It took a moment, as I was trying to work out the lump in my throat just enough to talk. I looked at “Alice”, who was again, was staring straight at my face, hard to read. 

“Yes,” I managed at a bare whisper. I noticed my vision was a little bleary at the bottom. I was so fucked! My teaching career, my _life_ , was over, and I was probably not going to see my daughter again in a long, long time. And it was all my fault! 

Just as I could feel the heavy-weight cops about to hoist me up and away, I heard my fake “client” say, “Wait.”

There was a strange pause, and all of us in the room looked at her. 

The Black woman, who appeared to be running the operation spoke, “Detective…,” 

“Sergeant, we need to ask him about Montoya.”

_Huh?_

The sergeant reacted dismissively, “We’ve just read him his rights. Better down at the station—”

“—Eddie Montoya,” the detective stated, directly at me. The sergeant did not hide her displeasure. Everyone seemed to wait for my response. 

“W-who?” I was too stunned to comprehend the sound of a name.

“Eddie Montoya. Did he train you?” Was she already interrogating me?

“What?! No!” _Train_ me?! _Who the fuck is Eddie Montoya?!_

“So you _don’t_ know an Eddie Montoya, at all?” She shook her head as she drilled in the question. I had _had_ it by then! My inner toddler was about to fly into the biggest rage of a tantrum yet.

“No! _No!_ I don’t _know_ any gangsters!” The whole room erupted into a chorus of snarky chuckles, except from the detective and her sergeant. I guess somebody thought it was funny because I didn’t find any of this fucking amusing at all either! My ass was going to jail, I was going to lose my teaching license, and they wanted to know about some _dude_ I’ve never heard of?!

The detective’s face fell like she just had the biggest let-down of her life. Good! Because pleasing her was the last thing I wanted to do for her ever again. 

The sergeant turned to her a gave an ‘I-told-you-so’ look, “There. Happy?” “Alice” just stood there looking defeated. I was too tired and distraught to feel any satisfaction from that, though. “Okay, buddy,” Officer Meathead announced, “let’s go.” He tugged my pinned-back arm and we both stood. His aggression was a lot less now, maybe thanks to the joke I didn’t know I made. 

As I was being led out of the room by two policemen, I remembered something and forced us to a sudden stop, which the cops obliged, but not very patiently. I had to ask: “M-my jacket…,”

“You’ll get it back after you can make bail, Mr. Schwarz,” the sergeant-lady retorted.

“I-it’s just…it’s not mine.” I don’t know what I was expecting, but when the woman turned at looked at me, her face made it clear. And I was lead out of the room for good.

All I could do was try not to cry as I anticipated being paraded down through the hotel in front of _everybody_ , wishing I had a bag over my head. The rumors would fly and no doubt tomorrow’s news headline on the Tribune was going to read: “Former Elementary Music Teacher Caught Leading Dirty, Double-Life as ‘Really Bad’ Sex Worker!” Yeah, I’m never gonna see my only child ever again…

Detective Alice Janko took a deep breath and threw her head as far back as she could. She knew Sergeant Rawlings couldn’t stay annoyed with her for long. It was why she seized the opportunity even without the Sarge’s official approval. At least they had a pretty good idea already that this guy was some ordinary non-John and not affiliated with Eddie Montoya. Did he seriously think Montoya was some kind of “gangster”?

Still. That was an awful lot of budget money, plus over months of planning wasted on an operation meant to nab a mastermind gigolo wanted for swindling tons of money from his rich “clients”. It didn’t help Montoya was able to change is M-O a lot, as well as his appearance. Rumors around had it that he was recruiting a few men to learn his ‘art of seduction’”, which may explain the shifts in his methods.

You work so hard to set a trap for an elusive white coyote, and instead you catch a measly, jack-ass rabbit.

“That could have waited until we got into interview,” Rawlings pointedly remarked, “Other than that…good work detective. I’ll see you back at the precinct.” She gave her a slight smile, turned on her heel, and left. Janko couldn’t help but give herself a teeny tiny mental pat on the back. Despite the original intentions of the sting, there was the success of an arrest. Still, something about the man they caught bothered her for some reason.

As Sarge left the room, she passed Detective Linda Sanchez, Alice’s partner. Sanchez stood there watching the woman leave with one hand on her hip and that signature, smart-ass look on her face. “Damn, girl,” Sanchez cooed, came up and playfully nudging Janko, “had’ I known you was gonna put on a show for us, I’da brought some Skinny Popcorn.” Her big, sassy smile and laugh was encouraging, and it beamed as she made her way nearby to retrieve the hidden camera set up on top of the nightstand lamp. 

The remaining officers began processing the scene and one officer, Gil Andrews, commented, “Hey check this out,” he held up the suit jacket and the tie strewn on the bed with gloved hands, “This shit’s Armani,” referring to the jacket, then turned to the grey tie, “and I dunno what this is, but it 0% silk, I can tell ya that! It’s cheap as hell!” 

“Didn’t Schwartz just say the jacket wasn’t his?” Sanchez then cracked a smile, “Oh, my god! That means the pants ain’t either!”

“I thought the whole point of this gigolo gig was to lose them anyway, right? Aww man, don’t tell me hookers are renting their ass-bands now. Thought they had it bad enough!” Andrews joked back. Sanchez snorted, but Janko wondered if she too felt like that came off a tiny bit misogynistic. Right now, she was too exhausted to find humor in anything and just wanted the night to end already. Fighting the urge to rub her face caked in the god-awful makeup she had to wear, she walked up to Sanchez, who was busy wrapping up the camera for transport.

“I need the other card key,” Janko sighed. Her partner wasted no time fishing it out of her navy blazer pocket and handing it over. “Thanks,” Janko muttered, hoping she didn’t sound ungrateful or moody. She was at least happy to be free of the wire and hidden earpiece. Listen to Sarge’s instruction while interacting with Schwarz tonight made her brain feel like it had been stretched past capacity and turn into mush. 

By now Schwartz and his escorts were making their way down the East side stairwell where the discreetly parked cruisers were waiting to transport him for booking. Sergeant Rawlings was rounding up all the officers on the floor and those guarding the floor entrances from all the stairwells. Two undercover detectives with the vice unit, Kacey and Lynch, who had posed as a conversing couple down in the lounge had probably been called in and making their leave. No doubt Officer Brian Lindstrom was wrapping his “shift” at the bar as well. Having worked as a bartender part time during college and while at the academy, he was able to pull off the role very well. The Omni Hotel had been very cooperative and helpful in giving them the entire floor during the operation and making sure no guests were booked there when the time came. Understandably, the hotel had a reputation to hold up, and the company didn’t want anything like the scandal of an illegal sex trade ring, “high-end” or not, tarnishing that. 

The keycard opened the room directly across, and Janko immediately went about yanking off her heels without bothering to properly untie them. Heels just _killed_ her feet! She had forgotten the real reason she never wore the damn things, and it was _not_ due to her job, either. If she had her way, she’d ban all plain-clothed female police from wearing heels—and be made to pay a fine if one dared! 

Exhaling to release the tension in her diaphragm, she walked over to where her ordinary work clothes lay on the bed: dark blue Levi’s, a casual white dress blouse, and a brown blazer. Her mahogany _low_ heeled, mid-calf boots sat faithfully off to the side. Nothing fancy, but professional enough. Pulling out the coded lock box from under the bed, she plopped it on the bed. Even in a secured and locked hotel room, one should never leave her gun and police star to chance.

Staring down at the uniform of her real life, Janko’s thoughts drifted back to David Schwartz. She was not sure what bothered her about his arrest. Maybe it was just that they were hoping to catch Montoya instead. But it felt like something else…

She knew she shouldn’t feel sorry for any of the perps, but just his behavior alone made it pretty clear the guy had no priors. They were able to pull up his public records once they could identify him from the facial-recognition software, so that was confirmed. But didn’t Sergeant mention something through her earpiece about him being an elementary school teacher? It may come to light this guy wasn’t inappropriate with kids—hope to God, he isn’t—but the stunt he pulled tonight was still an asinine low for someone who’s supposed to be a positive influence on young children. There was no doubt his teaching career was going to be over for good thanks to this. As Sanchez reminded her all the time, it wasn’t their job to make the laws, just to enforce them. And as it stands right now, sex (even very consensual) in exchange for money was still illegal in this country. As the saying goes: “money talks and shit walks”, naturally. So even though their city suffered more shootings, gang violence, and innocent lives lost than most cities in the whole damn country, the politics in charge had them chasing after crooks who just charmed and skimmed the pockets of rich bitches who had more influence.

As Janko rubbed the wet clothe all over her face in the bathroom, she kept thinking about the man’s demeanor. He wasn’t Hollywood-rugged handsome, but he _was_ sort of cute in a peculiar way. He was not intimidatingly macho either, which was still attractive, and _definitely_ unlike her ex. Even though he was clearly older, there was something innocently youthful in his dark eyes and his voice. And he was a fantastic kisser! There was nothing disgusting about his touch. She was sure he could…No!

The man was still breaking the law, and as someone older, an _educator_ , and a _dad_ , of all people, he should’ve known better! Just what made this guy think he could do this? Still, experience with people reminded her that desperate people tended to make poor decisions. Just how desperate was David Schwartz?

Maybe…maybe it was just that look he gave her when he was arrested that she couldn’t shake. That utter look of betrayal in his brown eyes—and she _did_ betray him. It was not too much unlike the sad eyes of a kicked puppy. _God, Janko, you are pathetic!_

She sighed again, wishing she had the time to take a nice, long, hot shower in this luxury hotel at least. She was sure Sarge was not going to allow her to interview him, but she was certainly going to find out more about this man’s personal and financial life. However this plays out, the night was promising to be a _very_ long indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: 
> 
> Ok! End of Chapter 1! Hope you enjoyed it. I plan on doing just one more chapter, because let’s face it, it’s easier. I thought of this as a great idea for some comedy-drama, primarily with different actors (though I still picture a few of the original in my head), but I really don’t have the connections and energy to pull such a feat off. I gotta be a little realistic. It’s one of the reasons I have a hard time actually finishing previous fan fiction stories—they become way too drawn out, usually anticipated into something more like a multi-season series... Since this story was inspired from such a small scene of a movie, I decided just to express my idea into an alternative universe fan fiction using some of the original characters and flipping their roles. 
> 
> So, I hope to have chapter 2 out soon in a couple weeks. Subtle hint: Alice wants to help David out and eventually makes him an offer he really can’t afford to refuse.


End file.
